


Not Broken

by asarcasticwitch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Beta Peter Hale, Biting, Cunnilingus, Dildos, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Stiles Stilinski, Fluff and Smut, Good Peter Hale, Marking, Not Beta Read, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, POV Third Person, Stiles Has A Sex Problem, Stiles Stilinski Has ADHD, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24947020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asarcasticwitch/pseuds/asarcasticwitch
Summary: She’s not even sure at what point Peter wormed his way into her dilemma, but she can’t help feeling grateful for his persistence and patience. She’s never had a lover so dedicated to seeing her writhe with pleasure that they’ve completely ignored their own desire to the point of staying fully clothed. She didn’t expect it from the wolf, thought he’d be the type to use her for his own end, then not give a shit about hers.How wrong she was.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 18
Kudos: 301





	Not Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Randomly decided to write this up at four in the morning, so apologies in advance if it's garbage. I've kept it short because I didn't fancy writing a novel in the wee hours of the morning, but I needed to write something, or my brain wouldn't settle.
> 
> It's my first time writing female Stiles, and to be honest, it's not usually my thing, but it made more sense with regards to the plot. I do have one other longer fic planned with female Stiles, so this is pretty much just practice for that. 
> 
> This is basically Stiles having some issues and Peter being her hero. I'm kind of nervous about posting it, I'm not going to lie, but I've not gone to sleep yet, so my exhaustion is taking over my self-consciousness. I'll no doubt regret it tomorrow, or maybe not, we'll see. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it for what it is, and as always there will be tons of mistakes as Grammarly only gets me so far, let's just ignore them for now.
> 
> Take care!

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t...” Stiles chants, the words hushed under every panting breath. 

Her legs are trembling from exertion, spread out wide on the bed as they are, the sheets below her soaked with a few hours worth of sweat— _only_ sweat, much to her dismay. A toy is buried deep inside her, punishing the area every single sex guru on the internet informed her the G-spot should be located, but she can’t feel a fucking thing.

She’s beginning to sob, her body vibrating with frustration, starting to believe—not for the first time—that she’s somehow broken. 

“Shhh, sweet girl,” Peter coos from where he’s knelt between her spread legs, caressing her calf soothingly. “You’re not broken; you just need to relax. Don’t force it.” 

She has a vibrator buzzing against her clit—which has now gone numb with the frantic abuse—but she just can’t seem to crest over that earthshattering peak that every other woman raves about.

She knows fan fiction and porn aren’t exactly trustworthy sources when it comes to sex, but every woman she’s met has at some point mentioned how they practically shatter after taking a proper dicking. Or they came so hard they saw stars. It’s fucking bullshit.

Well, it probably isn’t, but fuck, why can’t she have that? 

Stiles has had numerous sexual partners but not once has she experienced an orgasm from penetrative sex. Even the rare few orgasms she’s managed through pure spite and clitoral stimulation have been nothing short of disappointing. She’s sick and tired of hearing how sex and orgasms are a cure-all and how a good cock can take you places.

She just doesn’t get it.

The handful of times she’s made herself come, she’s barely even out of breath. It’s like a firework that shows promise but just hisses pathetically before merging with the wind. There’s no bang, no spark, not even a little fizzle. It’s just a waste of time.

And don't even get her started on this whole G-spot thing; it's rapidly beginning to sound like a myth. She doesn’t feel any tingle or body jolting sensation when something is inside her. Whether it’s a dick, a dildo, or fingers, it literally just feels as if she’s being impaled, repeatedly.

Which yeah, that’s happening, but there are none of those _feelings_ that everyone else describes. 

To be honest, she could blame it on the men—or should she say _boys_ —she’s slept with. None of them ever took the time to really get to know her body or seek anything other than their own pleasure, but they aren’t the only ones at fault. When she’d done some research—as you do—every single webpage she found spouted a similar line of exploring yourself first, getting to know your own body and what you like and dislike before trying it with a partner.

But, it still doesn’t work.

Sure, she can get off with her fingers on her clit after nearly half an hour of fondling, but the end result just doesn’t seem worth the hassle. It’s hardly anything to write home about.

She’s not even sure at what point Peter wormed his way into her dilemma, but she can’t help feeling grateful for his persistence and patience. She’s never had a lover so dedicated to seeing her writhe with pleasure that they’ve completely ignored their own desire to the point of staying fully clothed. She didn’t expect it from the wolf, thought he’d be the type to use her for his own end, then not give a shit about hers.

How wrong she was. 

Peter isn’t expecting anything, except making sure she plummets over the edge into the abyss of ecstasy. It’s refreshing, or it would be if her stupid body would work.

“I can’t, Peter,” she whimpers, tears rolling down her heated cheeks. “I told you, I just don’t fucking work.” 

A few days ago, her brain to mouth filter had failed her drastically while having a conversation with the man about her love life—or lack thereof. She’d been ranting about her latest conquest who couldn’t even figure out the difference between her ass and her elbow if he tried, and well, she may have overshared. Before she could stop herself, she’d told Peter all about her _problem_ , the man listened intently, and by the time she realized her mouth had run away with her, he’d offered to help her out.

Hence why he’s now in her bedroom—and has been for the last God knows how long—doing what he perceives as helping, but she’s still getting nowhere.

“Breathe for me, sweetheart.” His fingers slide through her damp hair, grounding her as her heart threatens to pound out of her chest. “You’ll get there, eventually. Just slow down and let me take care of you.”

She exhales shakily, nodding her head, willing to let Peter try as her limbs fall exhausted against the wet sheets. She sinks her head into the pillow below, focusing on slowing down her breathing lest she passes out. 

At first, she’d been embarrassed at Peter's request to watch her touch herself. While she’s confident in her body and isn’t shy when it comes to the topic of sex, deep down, she just didn’t want the man judging her. She can’t remember when his opinion became one she held in such high esteem, but somehow she’s found herself quite smitten with the older wolf. After all those long nights of researching the packs latest thorn in their side, she grew to appreciate his quick wit, dry sense of humor, and shameless flirtatiousness.

He’s also hot as all hell, and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t had fantasies about the man. 

Often and repeatedly. 

While masturbation and sex have proved futile for her, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t spend every waking moment dreaming about it or wishing up those phantom sensations she’s apparently supposed to feel. She wants to have good sex; she wants to feel mind-blowing pleasure.

_Is that too much to ask?_

She’s a sexual creature by nature; God granted her the imagination of a seasoned harlot but clearly not the proper functions to go with it. 

“You look so beautiful like this, Stiles. All sprawled out and panting,” Peter rumbles low in his throat. His voice providing more of a tingle than the toy he’s gradually working in and out of her.

She’d started with just her fingers, but Peter had suggested using toys, one to fill her up and the other to tease her sensitive bundle of nerves. It wasn’t long until her arms begun to ache with simultaneously using both the dildo and her vibrator, the angle being nothing less than challenging, so she’d asked—more like begged, but she won’t admit that out loud—Peter to take over. 

“Listen to how wet you are, baby,” he slurs through teeth too sharp to be human, and that, Ladies and Gentlemen, is what sends an unexpected bolt of heat straight to her core.

A soft moan escapes her dry mouth, not entirely sure if it’s solely his words or the way he’s able to twist the rigid silicon inside her that’s the cause. She’s pretty sure it’s the voice, smooth like velvet, dripping off his tongue like honey, ’cause she still isn’t feeling much except an odd pressure against her slick walls. 

She _is_ obscenely wet; that fact is apparent when she concentrates enough to do as his words command and _listen_. She guesses that’s something. She reckons it’s the vibrator, the stimulation causing just enough arousal to keep her interested; it’s a dull sort of pulse that makes her believe she might actually get there at some point. 

_Hopefully, in the next century._

She doesn’t want to give up, not like she usually does. It’s not that she feels _absolutely nothing_ , her clit might be numb at the moment from how long she’s been trying, but there is _something_ there; it just never usually progresses past that dimly lit fire. 

It also seems to be helping to have an insanely attractive werewolf kneeling between her legs, looking at her as if he’s close to losing control. Peter's gaze is intense; his pupils blown black with lust as he watches her every movement. She notices the subtle tilt of his head, using his supernatural senses to read her body like sheet music.

It’s... really turning her on. 

Another moan leaves her throat as her attention stays firmly on Peter. The muscles in his biceps bulging under the sinfully tight t-shirt painted to his body as he works the toy into her. She moves the vibrator away, giving herself a break from the constant thrum, hoping to recover the sensation she’s lost with a few moments rest. 

“That’s it, just relax,” Peter whispers into her thigh, his lips trailing sweet kisses across the slick skin. “If it takes all night, then it takes all night.”

“But, it shouldn’t take all night,” Stiles bristles, hissing through her teeth, not really angry, just fatigued. “That’s the point.”

Peter hums thoughtfully, keeping his movements slow and calculating, his rough, calloused hands roaming over her naked legs. “I think you’re too focused on everyone else’s experiences, too tense to allow yourself the chance to let go. You don’t need to rush it; it'll happen when you’re ready.”

Stiles whines pitifully, fists slamming against the bed. “I’m always ready. I’m constantly horny; I just don’t seem to work.”

She can feel the exhale of breath against her knee; she picks up the fond amusement in his expression. “Sex isn’t about speed, sweetheart,” his voice is as slow as his motions, eyes fixed between her thighs as he talks. “Yes, some people can find pleasure quickly, but everyone is different. There’s nothing wrong with taking a bit more time to find out what you like. It doesn’t mean you don’t work.” 

“I’ve tried.” 

“Maybe,” Peter shrugs. “But I’ll bet every time you’ve _tried_ you’re head is filled with ideas of what you _should_ be feeling, instead of concentrating on what you _are_ feeling. Just because other women feel a certain way, doesn’t mean you will. You need to get out of your own head and just let it happen.”

She’s unsure what to say, but she knows he’s right. She knows she’s too much in her own thoughts, too engrossed in what she’s read in books and online or heard from word of mouth to stay interested in the present. Her mind wanders, it could be her ADHD, or it could just be her inability to block out the world around her and just live in the moment. She’s too wrapped up with worry about not being what’s perceived as ‘normal’ to let herself relax and just _feel_. 

“If you have to think, think about what I’m doing to you, think about every little tremor or spark, no matter how insignificant.” His eyes move up to lock with hers, his cheek resting against her leg. “Focus on us, on nothing else outside this room. I’m not going anywhere until those tears falling from your eyes are from pleasure.” He smiles warmly, reassuringly. “You’ll get there, I promise... just let go.” 

She nods, words suddenly lodged in her throat at Peter’s sincerity.

Fuck, she likes this guy; she likes him _a lot_. 

Swallowing thickly, she manages to rasp out a quiet, “Kiss me.” The request so hushed she’s unsure if even Peter’s advanced hearing will pick it up. But with the way his eyes light up a supernatural shade of blue, his lips curling into a predatory grin, she knows he heard.

Keeping his fingers around the toy inside her, he lunges forward, covering her lips with his own as if he’s been waiting an eternity for permission. His tongue licks past the seam, tasting every inch of her mouth like a man starved. A soft approving purr comes from his throat as her own tongue dances against his in a passionate waltz.

His body is blanketing her, his weight grounding as he greedily swallows all her needy mewls. She lets her hands roam, indulging herself in exploring the wolf’s impressive clothed figure, her fingers skating over every strong protruding muscle. She feels herself clench instinctively as his cock brushes against her hip, a whimper ripping from her chest at the knowledge of his arousal. 

“Gods, you taste sweeter than I imagined,” Peter breathes against her lips, now red and swollen. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.” His mouth moves across her jaw, down her throat, peppering tender kisses to her burning skin. His teeth graze against the spot above her pulse point, her breath hitches in anticipation. “Can I mark you?” 

“Yes,” she agrees before he even finishes his sentence, arching her neck towards him to urge him on. 

He chuckles, but she doesn’t miss the contented growl at her act of submission. “My perfect girl.”

Without further hesitation, he latches onto her throat, sucking a no doubt vivid purple bruise into the alabaster skin. Her back bows off the mattress, the slight tinge of pain shooting straight to her core. Her body constricts once again around the toy inside her, a loud groan leaving her unbidden. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Peter encourages against her shoulder, nipping and biting more marks into her unmarred skin. He lifts his head after one particularly sharp bite makes her hips buck up towards him, watching her face as it slackens in delight. “Beautiful.” 

He stays above her for a while, not picking up the pace or trying to hurry things along; he just rests his weight on his elbow, alternating between whispering sweet, silky words into her ear and kissing every bare expanse of skin he can reach.

She’s never felt so adored, so treasured. He’s as hard as a rock but hasn’t once voiced any urgency for it to be dealt with, putting aside his own needs in favor of fulfilling hers. He’s unlike anyone she’s ever known, and maybe that’s what has her finally feeling something more than a subtle heat in her gut. 

“Peter,” she whines, burying her head against his chest as her hips rock eagerly to meet his movements. One of her hands fisting in the sheets; the other white-knuckled in the fabric of his t-shirt.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he purrs against her ear. “So perfect for me.”

She’s beginning to believe his words could be enough to get her close, as surprising as that revelation is to her. He knows exactly what to say to get her muscles tensing, her toes curling against the mattress. But it’s not enough, she’s still missing _something_ , but she doesn’t know what.

The sensations she’s feeling aren’t enough to get her to that peak. 

“I-I need...” she trails off, huffing in frustration. She doesn’t know what she needs. It’s like she’s working towards the desired end, but something is blocking the way. She can’t explain it. She’s as aroused as hell, Peter the sole cause of that, but there’s still not a lot of feeling inside her to push her over the precipice.

“Talk to me, little one. Tell me what you need.”

“I-I don’t know,” she cries, body cramping as she tries with all her might to feel more. Peter’s words supplying the throb, but it’s just not enough. “I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can,” he says with finality, tone brooking no argument. He looks down at where his hand is, brows creased as he seemingly tries to conjure up an answer. After a moment, his eyes come back up to meet hers, head tilted inquisitively. “Can I use my mouth on you?” 

Stiles’ brain nearly short-circuits.

She’s never been asked that question, not once. She’s only had one other guy go down on her, and it was for a grand total of ten seconds before he deemed it a chore. 

Her head is bobbing like a nodding dog before she even has a chance to voice an answer. “Yes, please.” 

His face lights up, and Stiles can’t help think he looks almost grateful.

Wasting no more time, he crawls down her body, positioning himself with his head between her legs. That sight alone is one that will be seared into the forefront of her mind for years to come.

He lifts her legs over his shoulders, one hand grabbing hold of her thigh while the other resumes its task. His sapphire-blue gaze locks onto hers as he dips his head closer to her center. The moment his hot tongue slides over her engorged clit, she knows it’s precisely what she needs.

Her hand darts out, fingers threading through his hair, grabbing onto the soft strands before she can stop herself. She senses the smirk against her cunt, the self-satisfaction radiating off the wolf now lapping at her like she’s his favorite meal. 

“Oh my God,” she curses, a little breathless as she grinds against his mouth, wantonly chasing the roughness of his tongue. 

Peter doesn’t stop her; in fact, he lets out a deep approving rumble—an animalistic sound that vibrates against her throbbing cunt better than any goddamn toy—as he doubles his efforts. He sucks at her sensitive bud, teasing her with his teeth as his tongue swirls against every single nerve ending. 

She’s not sure if it’s the expert way Peter uses his mouth or just the image of him going down on her that’s causing her body to shake fiercely, but she doesn’t give a shit. She feels incredible, and one way or another, Peter is the cause.

She can’t help babbling a mix of his name and some choice curse words as he works on rendering her an incoherent mess.

If this is what it’s supposed to feel like, she’s definitely been missing out.

The noises filling the room are intoxicating. The sloppy wet sounds coming from between her thighs are obscene, but she doesn’t feel embarrassed about it; it’s just adding to the fire building below her spine, threatening to consume her.

“Are you going to come for me, sweet girl?” Peter whispers against her delicate flesh, his hot breath sending shivers right to her toes. His heightened senses will have clued him into how close she is, that and possibly the way she’s unashamedly rutting against his face and fucking herself on the toy with wordless little pleas for more.

She nods her head, voice abandoning her as she falls apart beneath him.

“That’s it, baby, let me see you,” he murmurs before latching onto her once again, giving her that final push that she needs—the last piece of kindling to stoke the bonfire erupting in her belly.

She can barely think, can scarcely _breathe_ as she cascades towards the end, bursting through the final barrier in a dizzying coil of pleasure. It's a rush that seems to go on and on with every hard brush of Peter’s tongue, every deep thrust of the toy inside her.

His name breaks from her lips like a benediction, screaming into the heavens as her muscles finally constrict, her body convulsing violently as tendrils of white flare behind her eyes.

Her climax breaks over her like a crashing wave, her mouth falling open, her face going lax in bliss. Her chest expands wildly as her lungs desperately drag in every ounce of air from the room.

She laughs in delight, the sound equal parts breathless and manic, already addicted to the feeling she’s spent most of her life wishing for.

It takes a few moments for her body to collapse boneless onto the sheets, her legs falling open from almost crushing Peter’s head. She doesn’t feel guilty about it, he’d move her if it was bothering him, but with the awed expression on his face, she reckons he’s not about to complain.

She whimpers as Peter pulls out the toy from inside her, tossing it onto the floor. Peeking out from the corner of her eye, she can see the most smug hint of a smirk gracing his lips as he assesses her wrecked state.

He knows fine rightly that he’s ruined the prospect of sex with anyone else for her, and she doesn’t have the mental capacity to berate him for the arrogance.

He deserves to be smug; the man is a fucking God.

She’ll allow him to bask in his satisfaction for now, even if his ego is already full to bursting.

“See, you’re not broken,” he offers casually after giving her a chance to calm down from her high. He’s leaning back against the headboard like a proud King, fingers stroking her hair as she revels in the immense afterglow she now knows isn’t just a fairy-tale.

She chuckles a little drunkenly, dopey on all sorts of endorphins. “Guess not,” she shrugs before smiling up at him. “I was just waiting for your mouth.”

One of his eyebrows lifts, his tone dry. “Just my mouth?”

Stiles nods, trying to hide her amusement against her arm. “Yeah, just your mouth.” 

“Well, that’s good to know,” he comments with a dramatic sigh; she can sense the banter in his words, though, having no doubt detected her blatant lie. “I guess you don’t want me to stay then since you have no more need of me?” 

Stiles whines, pouncing with what little energy she has left and sprawling her gangly limbs atop of him, effectively stopping the man from leaving. “Stay.” 

The action gets her a hearty laugh, one she hopes to hear a lot more of. Stiles knows he could lift her off of him without effort, but with the way his arms wrap around her tightly—almost possessively—she guesses he doesn’t plan on going anywhere. 

“Okay, little one,” Peter presses a lingering kiss to the top of her head, his words softening to a tender caress. “If you insist.” 

She snuggles in closer, surrendering entirely to the warmth and safety of his adoring embrace. 

_This_ is what she’s been missing.

**Author's Note:**

> If I have missed any tags or warnings, please let me know.
> 
> Visit me on Tumblr at [asarcasticwitch](http://asarcasticwitch.tumblr.com), if you like.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome and much appreciated!


End file.
